


Careful What You Say

by authoressnebula (authoressjean)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Dean's Deal, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mute Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24982267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressnebula
Summary: A wish gone wrong leaves Sam unable to talk, and Dean with a sudden sharp insight into what Sam's been going through.Link to a Russian translation inside.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 206
Collections: Sam Winchester WHUMP





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has now been translated to Russian thanks to AlinkaWhite!
> 
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/9640188/24782169#part_content

“It's a rock, Sam.”  
  
“It's an important rock, Dean.”  
  
“To quote a great man, 'It's a big rock. I can't wait to tell my friends. Bet they don't have a rock this big.'”  
  
Sam sighed and rubbed at his temples, trying to stave off the Dean-induced headache. “It's a _magical_ rock, Dean. And Spike was not a 'great man'. He was a vampire, not a man.”  
  
“Whatever. He had it right,” Dean said, swinging the flashlight beam over the small stone. It was dark red in color, like metal rusting in the sun, and could easily fit into the palm of someone's hand. He bent down and hefted it up, testing it for weight before Sam could stop him. “Not bad,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows. He turned to Sam with a grin. “This would _not_ feel good in the head.”  
  
Sam counted to ten before he answered. “I can't believe you just picked that up. It's a magic stone for a reason, Dean. Who knows what the hell type of curse there's on it, or what it even does, or—”  
  
“Sammy, Sammy, don't worry so much,” Dean said cheerfully, turning away to inspect the rock. It was smooth against his skin, and glistened in the small amount of light in the crypt. Most people, when they asked to be buried, asked for their most prized possessions. A picture of their long gone spouse. A piece of jewelry. Tons of little odds and ends that meant something to them.  
  
Dean had never heard of someone's most prized possession being a _rock_.  
  
“One of us has to worry about things, since you don't anymore,” Sam muttered, and Dean's good mood vanished. He should've known Sam would try and figure out a way to weasel _that_ into the conversation.  
  
Dean let out a heavy sigh before turning to his brother. Sam was giving him the usual look, which used to be a puppy pout or a look of doom and gloom. Now, the look was anger and grief, and for god's sake, Dean wasn't _gone_ yet.  
  
“Enough, Sam, all right?” Dean said, giving his brother a look. “Just...lay off it, okay? I'm at peace with it, I made the decision, so just...brood about something else.”  
  
If anything, Sam appeared even more pissed off. Of course. “Why won't you even fight this?” Sam hissed, stepping forward. “I can't believe you're just so easy going about the entire thing. You're going to _Hell_ , Dean, in case you haven't noticed. Because of me. And every single time I try to get you out of it, you keep stopping me! So what the hell, Dean?”  
  
“Dammit Sam!” Dean shouted in answer to his brother's yelling. “I just wish you'd...you know what? Just shut up, okay? Just stop talking. Right now.” He turned and stormed off, without even looking to see if Sam would follow him. He knew he would; Sam hadn't let him out of his sight since he'd found out about the deal two weeks before.  
  
He made his way out of the cemetery and slid into the driver's seat. Sam slid in a moment later, slamming the car door unnecessarily hard. Dean threw him a glare, but Sam simply turned away to look out the window.  
  
Silent treatment. Right. Well, two could play at that game.  
  
Gritting his teeth, he pulled the car away from the curb, the stupid stone still in his pocket.  
  


* * *

  
  
Twenty minutes later, and Sam still hadn't spoken. They were slowly pulling off jackets now in the motel room, throwing them over chairs or whatever surface was closest. Sam sank down onto the edge of his bed, back to Dean. Dean toed off his shoes, taking as much time as he could, before he finally turned to Sam.  
  
“So what, you just not gonna talk to me for the rest of the year? Because I'm not changing my mind, and you're obviously not gonna change yours, so we're sort of stuck here.” No response. Dean clenched his fists. “You need to get over that right now. While you're at it, you can get over yourself, too.” Sam shifted, so Dean knew that Sam was listening, but still no answer. Dean pulled off his button up shirt and began balling it up. “As long as I'm talking about impossibilities here, trying pulling the stick out of your ass that got lodged up years ago,” and he threw the shirt against the wall.  
  
Silence continued to fill the room. Dean cursed under his breath and moved for the bathroom. If Sam wasn't going to speak up and claim it, the shower was Dean's by full right. He glanced Sam's way as he went, throwing a glare as he did so, which froze along with his steps.  
  
Sam looked freaked. His hands were pulling at his shirt collar, tapping his throat. His lips were parted, and tears were welling in his eyes.  
  
Dean forgot about the shower. “What's the matter?” he asked, sliding down to kneel beside Sam. “Sammy, talk to me.”  
  
If anything, Sam looked even more upset. He was breathing, hitched breaths that Dean could hear, so he wasn't choking. Just...really freaked about something. “Sam, what's going on?” Dean asked, starting to feel a little freaked himself.  
  
It was then that he realized that Sam's lips were moving, as if he was trying to speak. Dean frowned and watched his lips. _I can't_ followed by something that Dean couldn't read, but it only took two seconds to figure it out.  
  
“You can't talk,” Dean said flatly, his eyes displaying his shock. Sam nodded frantically, but he didn't look more relieved when Dean figured it out. He tried to say something else, and the panic only flared higher when the words wouldn't come out. He pulled at his skin around his throat, as if trying to claw a hole open so the words could come out.  
  
“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ ,” Dean said, grabbing Sam's hands and keeping them still. They shook in Dean's grasp, and Sam desperately tried to pull them away. His lips were still moving a million miles an hour, still speaking without sound, and Dean finally dropped Sam's hands to grab his shoulders, forcing him to look Dean in the eyes.  
  
“Sam. _Stop._ Right now,” Dean ordered, locking his gaze with Sam's. “Before the panic attack keeps going further and you can't breathe. So listen to me: take a deep breath and _stop moving_.”  
  
Sam looked terrified. Dean softened and said more gently, “Just breathe with me here, okay? We'll figure it out, I promise.”  
  
Sam's deep breaths were nowhere as deep as Dean wanted them to be, but his eyes had lost the maddened look, and he wasn't clawing at his throat anymore. Dean glanced down and winced at the red, scratched skin. He was just glad he'd stopped Sam before he'd done anything worse to his throat.  
  
When he glanced up, Sam's lips were moving again. Slowly and deliberately this time, however. Dean frowned and concentrated. _I need_ something that either started with a b or a p. Sam's right hand was moving up and down in a pattern, and it clicked. “Paper,” Dean said, glancing around the room even as Sam nodded. “Um...hold on.” He moved to let go of Sam, then stopped, giving his brother a look. “You gonna freak out on me again?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Then stay put,” Dean said, before moving around the room. Where was that complimentary pad of paper the hotel always gave...? Ah ha! There it was. He grabbed the pen and paper and handed it to Sam, who instantly began writing. After a moment, the sounds of the pen scratching on the paper stopped, and he handed the pad back to Dean.  
  
 _It has to be a curse of some kind. I was talking fine earlier._  
  
“Which means we can reverse it,” Dean said. Sam made a sorrowful face, and Dean's lips pursed into a thin line. “We _can_ , Sam. Don't argue with me here. Curses are reversible.”  
  
Sam didn't have to say it, though. Not all curses had a way to reverse; some were a one-way ticket only.  
  
Dean's cell phone rang in the following silence, startling them both. He hurried over and grabbed it, tossing Sam the pad of paper back as he did so. “Hello?”  
  
“Any luck?” Bobby asked through the line.  
  
“Yeah, we found the rock all right; we're a little busy with another problem right now,” Dean said, glancing back at Sam. Sam mouthed _Bobby?_ and Dean nodded. Maybe the crypt had been booby-trapped with a curse; had Sam been the first one in? Or the first to touch the sarcophagus?  
  
“Problem? With the wish stone?” Bobby asked, and Dean frowned.  
  
“Wish—?”  
  
And then it clicked. Dean was suddenly the one who was having problems breathing, the one who couldn't speak because it had finally clicked.  
  
Oh god.  
  
“What happened?” Bobby asked sharply when Dean didn't continue. “Dean, what _happened_?”  
  
“I'll call you back,” Dean said numbly, clicking his phone shut. He couldn't even look at Sam. God, the terror on his face when he'd realized he couldn't talk, and it was Dean's fault that in the first place.  
  
 _I just wish you'd...you know what? Just shut up, okay? Just stop talking. Right now._  
  
Wish granted.  
  
A hand on his shoulder made him turn to see Sam's very concerned face. _You okay?_ he mouthed, and Dean couldn't even nod or shake his head.  
  
Sam mouthed his name, and Dean had to say something then. “I didn't mean to,” he whispered. “God Sammy, I didn't mean to...”  
  
It was Sam who grasped his shoulders and focused his attention on Sam. _It's not your fault,_ Sam mouthed. Dean began to argue, but Sam shook his head. _I know,_ Sam mouthed again, before he glanced over at the stone, which was laying innocently on the table. He turned his gaze back to Dean, a small smile on his face. _It's not your fault,_ he repeated.  
  
There was nothing else Dean could say. _Sorry_ and _I didn't mean to_ and _I wish it was me_ could've all rolled off his tongue, but Sam already knew them. There wasn't a point to voicing them.  
  
When Sam put the pad in his face, Dean backed up slightly before his eyes focused on the words. _Can't go back, only have to go forward,_ he'd written, right above the words, _Take a shower. We'll grab dinner, and then sit down and figure this out._  
  
Plan. A plan was something he could work with. “Right. Okay,” Dean said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He straightened himself and stepped forward to get to work.


	2. Chapter 2

  
The next day, they hadn't found a single damn thing. Dean divided his time between digging through books they'd borrowed from the library (who would've guessed geologists knew so much about wishing stones?) and glancing up to make sure Sam was still okay.  
  
Besides not talking, though, Sam seemed a lot better than he had the day before. In fact, Dean was willing to wager that he was a lot more confident and cool than even Dean was at the moment. It was Sam who was the most affected by this, Sam who couldn't talk, yet he didn't even seem upset.  
  
Dean, on the other hand, was losing his mind.  
  
When the book he was reading only provided information on how to avoid wish stones and advised the reader to not speak in front of one at all, Dean threw the book across the room. It made a cracking sound as it connected with the wall, causing Sam to look up from his laptop. He gave Dean an annoyed look once he figured out what had happened, and Dean ignored him, bouncing his leg up and down in agitation.  
  
The pen hitting his head made him turn with a glare to Sam, who was glaring back at him. _Stop it,_ Sam mouthed. Yeah. Throwing books wasn't helping.  
  
Dean stood up suddenly from the edge of the motel bed and grabbed his jacket. Sam threw him a puzzled look as he headed for the door. He was almost there when Sam took hold of his sleeve, causing him to turn back to his brother. _Where?_ was all his brother asked.  
  
“Out,” Dean said tersely. The annoyed look came back at full force.  
  
Sam made a sweeping motion towards the books and raised his eyebrow. “I'm done reading,” Dean said, trying to tug his sleeve free. Sam only held on harder, though, his gaze narrowing. “Let me go already; I just want to drive around, all right?”  
  
The annoyed look fell into exactly what Dean didn't want it to turn into: understanding and sympathy. Sam had only to mouth his name before Dean wrenched his arm from Sam. “Don't even start with me, Sam! I mean, I just—” Dean clenched his fists before turning back to Sam. “You're not even _angry_ ,” he accused.  
  
Sam merely gave him a 'duh' look. “Aren't you? Even the littlest amount at me? I wouldn't blame you.” It'd hurt, but it was no less than Dean deserved.  
  
Sam slowly shook his head and gave him such a look of...of _peace_ that Dean was going to blow his gasket.  
  
“How can you be so _calm_?” Dean shouted. “You can't even _talk_ , thanks to me! I'm the one who did this to you! You should be angry at me, absolutely livid, you should hate me—”  
  
And finally an angry look passed over his brother's face as Sam stood. _Never,_ Sam mouthed, shaking his head firmly. _No_.  
  
“ _You can't even talk!_ ” Dean yelled, his hands gesturing madly in the air. “I did that to you, Sam! I can't believe I was so _stupid_ , and now you're the one paying the price.” His hands came up onto his head, and he ran them through his hair.  
  
“I'm gonna fix this,” he swore, turning to Sam, who looked...stunned was probably the best word. Dean didn't really know why, but it didn't stop his flow of words. “I swear to god I'll get you out of this, Sam. I'll make it right again. I'm the reason you're in this mess, and I'm not gonna stop until I get you _out_ of it.”  
  
Sam stared at him for a moment more, before turning to the pad of paper beside his laptop. He was done in a matter of seconds, then slowly straightened and handed the pad of paper to Dean. _Now you know how I feel._  
  
Dean's gaze snapped back up to Sam, surprised. Sam turned away to look at the floor, but it was all Dean needed.  
  
Was this really how Sam felt? About the deal Dean had made?  
  
 _One of us has to worry about things, since you don't anymore.  
  
I can't believe you're just so easy going about the entire thing. You're going to Hell, Dean, in case you haven't noticed. Because of me._  
  
He wasn't not caring; he was going to Hell. Kinda a concept a little hard to wrap your head around sometimes, but it still scared the crap out of him. He wasn't going to admit that to Sam, though. He was the big brother, and they protected the little brother at all costs.  
  
Seemed he hadn't managed that completely. Sam blamed himself utterly and wholly for Dean going to Hell. It had been Dean's choice after Jake's decision, and Sam had merely been the passenger along for both rides. Yet he still obviously felt responsible.  
  
Dean was pulled from his thoughts when Sam sat back down, his back to Dean. His shoulders were hunched, and despite the locked gaze on the screen, he knew Sam wasn't paying any attention to the stuff on the laptop.  
  
Dean gazed at him for a moment more, then slid the jacket from his shoulders. He walked by Sam deliberately, then tossed the jacket over the back of the other chair. “I don't know how to get you out of this,” he admitted quietly. “I got you into this, and I don't honestly know how to get you out.”  
  
When he glanced back, Sam's eyes were locked on him, and he was holding out the pad. _We just keep looking, and we don't give up,_ he'd written.  
  
Dean nodded and turned back to the smaller stack of books they'd pulled from the library. He'd keep looking, then. They'd find a way out of it.  
  
They could even pretend they were only talking about the wishing stone.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I wish Sam could talk again.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“I wish Sam could speak again.”  
  
More silence.  
  
“I wish Sam could open his mouth and say words that I could hear.”  
  
The pen hit Dean in the middle of his forehead, causing him to look up and glare at Sam. “What do you want? I'm trying to make a new wish,” he snapped. “It's not going very well.”  
  
Sam just rolled his eyes from the desk, then turned the laptop towards Dean. A word document program was opened, and the font was large enough that Dean could read it easily. _Set it up like last time._  
  
Last time. Right. Last time... Dean eyed the stone in his hands and tried again. “Sam, I...just say something already, will you? I just wish you'd say it and get it over with already.”  
  
Dean watched in hope as Sam parted his lips.  
  
When nothing came out, Dean slouched in his chair. “Great,” he muttered. “Just great.”  
  
 _We'll figure it out,_ was quickly typed in. After Dean nodded, Sam pulled the laptop back, typed madly for a moment, then swiveled it back around again. _We can try to break it._  
  
Dean sat up straight at that. “Break it? Like 'break the stone into pieces' break it? How?”  
  
Sam gave a slow shrug. “Oh, don't start that crap now; you've got an idea, I want to know about it!”  
  
Slowly Sam fastened his eyes on him, pushing the laptop towards him. Dean frowned and finally spotted another window open. It was a site for budding geologists, about how to crack open a rock.  
  
“You think this might work?”  
  
Sam shrugged again. “If we screw this up, you might not be speaking for the rest of your lifetime, Sam,” Dean warned. “It's not worth it. We'll find something else.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and pulled the laptop back, then started typing again. A moment later, Dean was allowed to read. _It's pretty legit; I emailed Bobby and he said so long as we use the proper materials, it could very well work._  
  
“Yeah, maybe, but...” Dean paused for a moment, then frowned. “Wait, Bobby has email? He knows what that is?”  
  
The pen hit him in the middle of his forehead. Again.  
  
Dean glared and got another glare right back for his efforts. “Then what exactly are the 'proper materials'?”


	3. Chapter 3

Turned out, the proper materials weren't easy to come by. In fact, one thing was going to be downright impossible.  
  
C'mon, why the hell did they need ectoplasm?  
  
When he asked Sam, though, Sam just gave him a look. Not because he couldn't answer; no, Dean knew the difference from that look already. This was a look that Dean was very familiar with, _had_ been familiar with for years.  
  
This was the look of 'Dean, you dumbass, it's obvious' that only his little brother could pull off with the right amount of exasperation.  
  
Sam had located a probable haunting, and off they'd gone. Dean had found himself awkwardly silent for the first ten minutes in the car, then had started talking about nothing of any real value. Menus he'd memorized, his favorite bands, that one hunt in Mexico with John. He'd been worried at first that his attempts to fill the silence would only rub salt into the wound, would make Sam wish he could talk, too.  
  
When he'd paused, unsure of how to proceed, Sam had reached out and clasped his shoulder, and hadn't let go until Dean had started talking again.  
  
Dean had talked all the way to the abandoned barn.  
  
Now, however, he was keeping silent. They'd made a pact that if they could get rid of the spirit tonight, then they'd do it, but if they couldn't, they'd just take the ectoplasm and go, come back another night. Dean knew, without a doubt, that if given a choice his brother would help others first. Normally, that was Dean's first thought, too.  
  
Except where Sam was concerned. Sam came first before everything.  
  
The wood above them creaked, and both froze before slowly continuing inward. Sam nodded towards the stairs in the far right corner, and Dean moved to take front position. Closer up, he could see something oozing out from between the wood, and pursed his lips grimly. Ectoplasm was nasty enough as it was, he didn't need the visual to remind him of what he'd be gathering up in a few seconds.  
  
Then the wall beside him blew in.  
  
Dean shouted as he was thrown to the left and onto the hard packed dirt floor. He pulled his shotgun out from under him and fired fast. There was a wail as the spirit apparently took a hit, but Dean couldn't see anything disappear. It didn't matter at the moment, though: it was gone, and that was all he cared about.  
  
That and Sam, who he couldn't see now. “Sam?” he shouted, even as he knew that Sam couldn't answer him. That didn't help him or his worry any. “Sammy!”  
  
He was shoved backwards then, and he grunted as he hit the floor once more. “This is getting old,” he grumbled, straining to look around him. The ectoplasm was only coming from the stairway and that wall, and Dean was going to take a huge ass bet on a body being trapped in the walls. He grimaced at the thought, then quickly rolled to the side as a wooden block fell towards him. “Sam!” he shouted, voice louder now as he stood. “Grab the ectoplasm and let's—”  
  
Suddenly something shoved him forward, and if Dean hadn't felt the rest of his brother lean on him for a second, he would've thought it was the damn spirit again. Sam was pushing him towards the door, and Dean ran without a word. If the kid was angling to leave, that meant they'd gotten what they'd come here for. Which meant they could leave, which was totally fine with Dean.  
  
A few more things came their way, but all Dean cared about was getting the hell out of there. Then they were out, still moving together, and Dean didn't stop running until they were back at the car, out of the spirit's reach. “That wasn't fun,” Dean said, panting as he slowed to a stop. “If the next items on the list to break that damn stone aren't beer and pizza, I swear I'll—”  
  
Sam didn't stop moving, bumping into Dean, and then continuing straight on down. “Sam! Woah, woah, woah,” and Dean went down with him, catching him moments before he landed. “Sam, what—”  
  
And then his eyes caught on the dark stain that was growing on the front of Sam's jacket. Sam was pale and panting, grasping weakly at Dean's sleeve, and all Dean could do was stare and remember kneeling in mud with another stain just like that one.  
  
Sam shuddered, and Dean forced himself out of Cold Oak and into the Middle of Nowhere with Sam. “Just hang on for me, Sammy,” he whispered, digging through his pockets for something, _anything_ to stop the bleeding. The stain was getting bigger, and the life in Sam's eyes was getting smaller.  
  
He found a cloth and pulled it out, then realized it was wrapped around something. The damn wish stone. The reason they were in this mess, the reason Sam was dy—  
  
Not. Going. There.  
  
Dean gritted his teeth and pulled it from his pocket, sliding the handkerchief free and letting the stone drop unceremoniously into his lap. “Hang on for me, little brother,” he whispered. “Sammy, stay _with_ me...”  
  
Sam was shivering now, tiny tremors wracking his big frame, and his eyes stayed on Dean. When Dean pushed against the wound as gently but firmly as possible, Sam didn't even seem to notice.  
  
He was too far gone. Dean could feel it, the blood continuing to flow, the tremors subsiding one by one. Tears burned in his eyes, but he kept pressing the cloth down anyways.  
  
“I'm right here, Sammy,” he said, clearing his throat to speak up loud enough for Sam to hear him. He hadn't gotten the chance to really say goodbye in Cold Oak, and as much as he hated to now, he wasn't going to miss the chance this time. “I'm not going anywhere, okay? Right here, I'm right here, Sammy.”  
  
Sam was blinking slowly now, his eyes closing for a few seconds at a time before opening once more. His lips moved, something Dean couldn't read, something Dean might've been able to hear if it hadn't been for him and his stupid _wish_.  
  
Sam blinked again, and this time, his eyes didn't open.  
  
Dean stared down at the still face below him, not even noticing the tears trailing down his cheeks. Just like that, and Sam was gone. _Sam_ was _gone_. He'd gotten his brother killed, and the thought made bile rise in the back of his throat. All because of that stupid _stone_.  
  
He glared at the stone with his swimming vision. “Give him back,” he whispered, fingers clutching the cloth and touching the blood that was already cooling. “Please just...just give him _back_. You can't have my soul, it's already claimed, but...but please, I—”  
  
He swallowed hard and hung his head. He didn't even know who he was talking to, who he was trying to plead and beg to, but it didn't stop the words falling from his lips. “If you could give me one wish, I'd just want my little brother back. _Please_.”  
  
His hands jerked as Sam suddenly arched his back and took in a huge gasp full of air, causing Dean to stumble back, cloth still clutched tightly in his fingers. Sam panted for a few moments, glancing around before finally seeing Dean. “Are you okay?” Sam managed, his voice hoarse. Then he blinked, blinked again, licked his lips and tried again with growing hope, “Dean?”  
  
Dean dropped the cloth and grabbed his brother close, his bloody hands sliding through Sam's hair. Sam had his arms around Dean in a matter of seconds, and Dean closed his eyes and let himself breathe again.  
  


* * *

  
  
“So...the ectoplasm wouldn't have worked, anyways.”  
  
Dean stopped dead in the doorway, Sam's sheepish face waiting right in front of him. “Come again?” he managed to ask, bag of food still in his hand.  
  
Sam flushed. “Uh, turns out that there are only two ways to deal with a wish stone: either the person who got wished upon makes a wish to counter-act it...”  
  
“Which you couldn't do, because you couldn't _talk_.”  
  
“Or another wish is made.”  
  
Dean frowned, finally stepping into the room and setting the food down on the table. The aroma began filling the room once Sam closed the door. “Dude, I must've made about ten different wishes afterwards, and nothing worked!”  
  
“It has to be said in the same way.”  
  
“I _did_. Phrased it that way and everything, remember? Careless speaking?”  
  
“No, not that way,” Sam said, taking a seat as Dean did the same. “It has to be said in the same _feeling_ type of way. You were really upset when you made both wishes. Both wishes were heartfelt, pleading of various types for something to change.”  
  
“So destroying it doesn't work.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Wish stones aren't stones that have random spells attached to them, they come from the earth itself that way. You kind of can't mess with Mother Nature like that. Man made objects, yes. They're easy to destroy, if you have the proper stuff. Something that nature's had a hand in, like the curse of a dying man who then becomes one with the earth, or a rock that came from who knows where...?”  
  
Dean sighed. “Who was it that said that he learned three things not to mess with, and one of them was Mother Nature?”  
  
“Probably another 'great man',” Sam dead-panned, snickering when Dean kicked him.  
  
“I liked it better when you couldn't talk.”  
  
“Yeah, right. You were panicked, Dean.”  
  
“Was not.”  
  
“Were too.”  
  
“Only because I didn't feel like reading your handwriting for the rest of my life.”  
  
“Yeah, because you have to save your reading eyes for Playboy.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Nice retaliation there—hey! What the _hell_ did you do to my burger?”  
  
Dean grinned, unrepentant. “You're welcome,” he said cheerfully as Sam stared in horrified silence at the burger full of jalapeños, hot mustard, peppers, and barbecue sauce. That had been a special order.  
  
As soon as Sam stopped pouting, he'd tell him where Sam's real burger was, carefully hidden beneath the fries still in the bag. He wasn't going to tell him how much he _had_ missed Sam's talking and his voice, no matter how impatient or angry a tone it took.  
  
And no matter how many times Sam was bound to ask, Dean wasn't telling him what river he'd chucked the wish stone into.


End file.
